Wrote this:
A month ago, poems poured out, nearly everyday. I worried that people wouldn’t come read, that I was posting TOO much. Then the time of packing and cleaning out came and I kept thinking – when summer comes. When summer comes. I repeated that in my mind like our last SS prompt – a mantra. Now summer has started and zip, zilch, nada…..
There are chores to attend to, left through the winter. There are papers and folders to sort through and cull. Stuff I brought home from years and years of saving “in case I need it someday”. There are naps to be taken. It will come. I’m not worried. Not me….
Then went to Sunday Scribblings and the prompt was mess
down the years and tears
the fears of what the future holds
unfolds on beaches
farthest reaches in the ocean
each and every living
creature giving up a piece a trace
of DNA now altered on
the altar of our way of life and
eyes to show fantastic
plastic throw away here today
gone tomorrow
all our sorrow we don’t care
won’t share just hurry coffee cup to go
don’t walk don’t talk
ac runs and engine guns
its only fuel we let it rule
its not enough to wreck the land we
venture now to oceans shores
we know the scores at two bucks
a gallon who is counting cost is
mounting make a wish
tell the fishes
food chain dishes
compromised forever more
fossil fuel whores
diseased the source
of tears of fears
for years
peace
This is very good, it really speaks out how terrible this oil-disaster is.
thank you Alice – it’s a subject I wish didn’t exist to write about…
It’s terrible what’s happening, especially as the oil industry MUST have known it could happen, and not planned for it.
Great words.
Thanks Anthony, you know the thinking anymore is what ever makes the buck now, future be damned.
Thank you for your poem. It appears you’ve gotten you poem mojo back.
This mess angers me. There’s been discussion for years about what will happen if our wetlands are destroyed. I guess it’s not theory any longer; we’ll find out soon. So much wildlife gone. Not to mention the economic impact to the coast. It makes me sick.
Me too Denise. Unfortunately I think it is our kids and their kids that will see the real damage.
Scary stuff that type of mess. It bothers me most that I am guilty of relying on it and that I have no alternative.
Hi Dee. Lovely last line. Couldn’t help thinking of the oil spill after reading this. ‘Fossil Fuel whores’ is a great phrase as well..you obviously feel passionately about these issues and have allowed them to swirl inside before expressing them so succinctly and powerfully on the screen..Jae
It hits a little close to home, Jae. Family in both Louisiana and Florida. The economy in Florida is already in bad shape. This will hurt it more. It’s just so very sad.
This is exactly where my thoughts went when I discovered this prompt. You have put together such a delicate form for such a filthy mess. Amen to all that you have described here.
Fossil fuel whores! Now that is strong stuff but despite knowing that we are being manipulated by multinationals and inept governments we feel totally helpless to do anything about it. If disaster is staring in the face now what will we tell our children in ten years time when it is too late? Sorry kids back then we were just too greedy and uncaring for you and all that was once beautiful.
We must keep driving the message home. Great words Dee.
The helplessness is probably what makes me angrier than anything. I’m afraid of the long term repercussions of this disaster. I’m not a total green freak but I grew up with a mother and grandmothers who used up, made do, recycled before it was a word. I wish we would go back to some of that way of doing things.
Curious, after your discontent with your last poem, how this one holds up for you. Feel like mojo is back? What is/was the difference with “Summer Begins”? Whatever the case may be for you, I like this throwdown. BP’s culpability notwithstanding, you bring us all in as accomplices.
Several years ago, I ran across some futurologists’ maps of predicted earth changes. My favorite was the coast of Idaho (especially since I was moving there at the time), which predicated much of the west coast (not just California) dropping away. Imagine the Mississippi River as a zipper that is being unzipped from south to north: the “changes” showed much of the Mississippi River watershed being gutted by the opening zipper: New Orleans would emerge as an island. While all the current trauma to the Gulf region is not playing out to the tune of the earth change predictions, there is at least a parallel sense of cataclysm.
As for your empty tank, well, we know you, girl. Although it did occur to me that as late blooming writers, our vaults start out as bursting with material just ready to roll. It may come a time when the pressure of the “must be written, we’ve waited a long time for this” shifts to a less pressured experience of what needs to be accessed and brought through. Whatever the case may be, I have faith in all your muses.
As it happens, it has been a long time since I’ve actually settled down to writing any fiction. I had no plans for anything beyond the usual rough and tumble poems during the summer break, but over the past few months, I’ve been fascinated by the increasing number of taco wagons that have sprung up on two of the major streets around us. Little makeshift diners on wheels, with their neon signs. Just the kind of thing to grab my muses, like a Christmas tree lot from the past. Just last night, I dusted off the old rusty fiction-writing bicycle and started in on the taco wagon story. Definitely felt crusty at first, but I could feel the groove coming back, as the characters showed up and brought me their voices. Just a start and nowhere near time to share any of it, but you’re certainly on the list when it’s time to roll it out.
Be well, Sister Dee. Hop in a cool pool.
You’re probably off and running with something already, while I’m sitting here in full blather.
I have been sorting through and cleaning out piles of papers and junk I brought home from work. The move to a new campus has forced me to work on getting organized. How cool that you are dusting off the fiction and putting something new together – I can’t wait to read. I have ideas and I know I will have another burst but for now I’m moving a bit slow. I think you are right about us late starters and I really hope that all this was just forays into new territory – checking out the scenery. Every step has been a lesson. I just need to get back to the “ass in seat” mode. That’s why I post even when I think it’s bad. When I let myself get twisted up about comparing it shuts me down. Time to shake it off and get typing 🙂 The futurologists maps sound interesting. Guess they didn’t factor in man…I’ve always loved the extremes – mountains or ocean, I’ll take either. This spill makes me so angry. Visited the public library today and snagged myself a couple more De Lint books. He and Emma Bulls get my imagination stirred up so who knows what may shake loose.
Very nicely done poem!
Thank you 🙂
Heaps of papers and things to sort through have been calling my name. Although I made headway from before last winter (it’s been an ongoing process!),I’d like that culling you speak so eloquently about, to end. I’d like to have finished this sorting process. It is like a mantra when I think, “This is trash, this is recyclable, this goes to charity, this is saved for memories, this needs repair, and this is for gifts.” Keen observation on your part to recognize that internal mantra that accompanies this cleaning out/reorganizing process. Hope your relocation to another campus goes smoothly.
Your poem deftly spoke of our earth’s resources to me and the need to preserve them, not destroy or pollute them.
Thank you Gel – I’m afraid the pile is much bigger than it should be and that process will be ongoing for awhile though not as long as it will take to clean up the gulf (I hope) 🙂